Not My Type

Dante's face remained impassive as he looked at Genevieve in front of him and earnestly said those words.

"Fiancé?"

Was he really her fiancé? She had considered him a good friend, but she had never imagined that they had such an intimate relationship.

Why did it feel strange?

She lowered her eyes, pursed her red lips, and pondered. If he really was her fiancé, why did she feel averse to his touch?